Hoth Trilogy
by 2Old4This2
Summary: One event- Han and Luke are stranded outside in the cold overnight on Hoth-told from three different points of view: Han's, Leia's, and Wedge Antilles's. Each chapter is an independent story. The story as a whole is rated M for some content in the first chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_One event, three points of view. Each chapter stands as an individual story. Sometimes these ideas just get in my head and won't go away!_

 **Shine on Me**

If he was going to die, this was a stupid way to go.

Of all the ways Han Solo had pictured himself blasting out of life—flying the _Falcon_ into a supernova, being blown out of space by an Imp cruiser, being disintegrated by a bounty hunter, even losing a cantina fight—any of those would be better than slowly freezing to death in a rickety survival shelter with nothing for company but a delirious kid and a dead tauntaun!

It was embarrassing.

Han checked the power supply on his blaster; it was only half depleted. That was good to know. Shielding his eyes against the flare, he aimed it at the piece of rock he'd uncovered earlier and fired. With the blaster set on half power he could heat the rock up enough to provide a little warmth to the shelter. The power cell on the survival heater had given out an hour ago. At least that's how long ago he'd thought it'd been. The tiny chrono had frozen about that time, too.

 _Look on the bright side, Solo, at least the tautaun doesn't stink now that it's frozen!_

Luke moaned feebly and his body twitched a little. He wasn't thrashing around anymore, which Han knew was a bad sign; the kid's body was shutting down. He shoved the boy as close to the faintly glowing fleckrock as he dared and tented the shiny thermal blanket covering Luke's body so that the warmth from the stone reflected back on his injured friend. Han thought that it would have been nice if the survival kit had been designed to accommodate more than one individual, but he supposed its creator had never dreamed that there would be two people stupid enough to get stuck outside overnight on Hoth.

Taking off one glove, Han reached over to check the boy's pulse. It was slow, too slow, and very weak. He rubbed Luke's arms, hoping to stimulate his circulation

"C'mon, Luke," he scolded in a conversational tone. "You can't die, you know. The Rebellion needs you. Besides, you don't want to give her Worshipfulness any more reason to hate my guts than she already has, do you?" Han's cold face cracked into a wry, lopsided smile. Knowing how Luke felt about the Princess, the kid would probably love to give Leia another reason to detest Han Solo!

Leia, the princess, her Worship—why did he keep thinking about her? Struggling to get his glove back on over fingers that were stiff with cold, Han formed a picture of the petite woman in his head. In his mind's eye, he envisioned her from earlier today, nose to nose with him in the icy corridor—which was actually sounding pretty warm to him right now—with her dark eyes cold, her face set in angry, unyielding lines. Gods, you'd think she had ice in her very veins!

Han shifted a little on the icy floor of the shelter, hoping that would provide some relief to his freezing posterior. It didn't help, of course. Why he thought that it would escaped him. He shivered a little, then realized he hadn't been shivering very much. Kriff! That wasn't good; if he weren't careful, he might freeze to death right along with Luke. He wondered if that might bother Leia. If he froze to death, would she even notice?

Nearly everyone called her the Ice Princess. Han knew why. It was because everything Leia Organa did was for the Alliance—for the Rebellion. She suppressed all normal emotions: joy, sorrow, fear, grief; in order to focus on defeating the Empire. He supposed he couldn't blame her, she had watched her entire world get blown to space dust. That certainly was a good reason to shut down your emotions. But if she didn't start feeling something, anything, she might end up actually becoming the ice princess everyone accused her of being!

Leaning over to check on Luke, Han noted that the kid's lips were blue, his face as white as the snow outside their semi-useless shelter. With a shaky sigh, Han fired at the fleckrock again, holding the trigger down a little longer than before. The stone took on a brighter glow, just as his blaster chirped once, signaling that its power cell was down to one-quarter strength. Sith! Han pulled his knees tight up against his chest, trying to conserve body heat, but he had a very bad feeling that neither one of them had much chance of lasting through the night.

Leia would miss the kid, and mourn him, if he died. She loved Luke as well as she loved anyone. Who knows, her Worshipfulness might even miss him if he died along with Luke. She might even mourn him.

There were times Han was sure there was _something_ between him and Leia—he just wasn't sure what that something might be. Sometimes it was subtle; a look from her that was soft instead of businesslike, or caring instead of angry. There were times when it seemed like she might actually like him—as a person, not as a fighter in her rebellion. But then there were the other times, when she looked at him—usually when they were arguing—and it felt like he'd been hit by an ion cannon set at full power. Did Leia love him? Sometimes he thought it was possible.

And did he love her? No, of course not! And he was on his way out of here; they were both clear on that count.

A loud snap brought Han's head up off his knees. What was that? His heavy lidded eyes surveyed the small shelter. He watched as the wind shook the strong, thin fabric of the shelter's roof; that was where the noise had come from.

It was just the wind.

Han held the emergency lamp over Luke. The kid was in bad shape; he was barely breathing.

"Luke!" Han shook the young man's shoulder, none too gently. Luke's head lolled from side to side, but there was no hint of a response. The dried blood on his face had frozen into crazy patterns on the white cheek.

"C'mon kid," Han cajoled, "you've got to hang on till morning. They'll find us as soon as it's light."

There was no response, but Han hadn't really expected any. It was starting to look like when the searchers found them in the morning, it would be too late.

His face set in resignation, Han aimed and fired at the fleckrock. He held the trigger down until he heard two chirps. The power cell was down to ten percent.

With a sputter and a pop the small lamp went dark.

Han pulled his knees back up against his chest, his drained blaster still hanging loosely from his hand. He shook his head and blinked his eyes in the dark. What he wouldn't give for a hot cup of kaf right now!

He wasn't sure what it was that woke him, the soft light of dawn hitting his face, or the heavenly smell of kaf. Han streteched his arms over his head, then crossed his hands behind his head. The only sound he heard was that of his naked skin rubbing against silky sheets as he moved. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good. He didn't want to open his eyes, for fear the feeling of absolute bliss would disappear.

"Come on, sleepyhead! I know you're awake." A soft, sultry voice whispered in his ear, the speaker so close, warm breath tickled his ear.

Han's eyes shot open as he raised himself to his elbows. Leia knelt on the wide bed next to him, surrounded by crumpled sheets, a cup of kaf in her hand. There was another cup on the chest next to the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear them, then opened them again. The scene hadn't changed. The princess was clad only in the veil of her long, silky hair, which hung down her back past her buttocks, and flowed across her naked breasts down to her pubis. It was bewitchingly tousled. To Han, it looked like she'd just woken up after a night of really good sex. A quick look down at his own naked torso revealed that he, too, had apparently just woken up after a night he really wished he could remember!

"What are you looking at?" Leia asked him. "After last night, I don't expect there's anything for you to see that you aren't already familiar with."

Han felt a slow smile lift the corner of his mouth. "Sorry, princess," he said, "but you are a sight that needs to be taken in slowly."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"It definitely is," he assured her. He reached a gentle, tentative hand up through the tangled mass of Leia's hair to cup the back of her head, pulling her down for a kiss. She didn't resist. Instead she put her mug down on the night stand and leaned over him, into the kiss. It was long and deep as their breath mingled and their tongues probed.

Leia withdrew gently, shifting herself so she could sit next to Han on the bed. She handed him a mug of the fragrant kaf, and reclaimed her own.

"You better drink that," Leia recommended. "We're going to have to get going."

Han only nodded and took a sip of the kaf. It was at least a million times better than the swill they served in the base commissary.

The princess leaned familiarly against him. Every millimeter of her soft skin that touched his seemed to tingle with electricity.

"I'm going to hate to leave here," Leia sighed as she drank from her mug. "I can't believe how perfect this has been."

"Me neither," Han managed to choke out.

"But duty calls, Flyboy," she continued. Leia put her mug back down on the chest and started to rise. "It's time we got back to reality."

"Wait!" Han caught one delicate wrist in his hand, halting her progress. _It couldn't just end,_ Han thought desperately, _not when he'd just discovered this warm, loving, part of her._

Leia didn't struggle, or try to pull away. "Haven't you had enough yet?" she asked him, eyebrows raised.

"I can't get enough of you," he said. _He couldn't let her slip away, not now. Now that he knew how she felt about him, and how he felt about her._

She said nothing, only smiled in invitation.

"Come here, your Worship." Han reached his other hand around her waist and pulled her down on top of him. He shut his eyes, the better to feel her, smell her, taste her. He knew, this was where he wanted to be.

When light once again penetrated his closed eyes it was a cold, sharp white.

Cold!

Han jerked his head up and blinked his sticky eyes open. The walls of the emergency shelter swam into view. He could see his breath in the frigid air. Gods! How long had he been out?

"Luke!"

Han crawled stiffly over to the prone form of his friend. For one horrible moment, he was afraid the young man had slipped away while Han had slept; then he saw Luke's chest rise and fall.

"Hang on, kid. It's daylight. Someone will be here any time.

As if on cue, Han heard the comm crackle with static. He grabbed it and turned up the gain.

"…Commander Skywalker, do you copy?"

"Good morning! Nice of you guys to drop by."

Han felt a weight lift from his chest at the sound of an engine approaching. He crawled out of the shelter and into the blinding white dawn of Hoth, waving his arms at the T-47 heading toward him.

As he waited for Zev to come in for his landing, Han thought about his dream. Had it been a dream, or a vision of the future?

He snorted. Obviously, he'd been hanging around the kid too long; of course it was only a dream! But he'd never had any dream feel so real before. He didn't buy into any of this Force stuff Luke was always spouting off about, but it wouldn't hurt to hang around a little while longer, just in case dreams might come true.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Cold at Midnight**

Wedge Antilles shivered.

War is just one of the hells, he reminded himself. And it really wasn't so different from the rest of life. Beings died in accidents, or were murdered; they were killed in battle, or sometimes they just went missing. You went on; there wasn't anything else you could do anyway. As long as you had a few friends, a game of sabacc, and a bottle of something smooth to take the edge off—life was good.

Unfortunately, none of those things was working for him tonight.

He shivered again as he walked toward his quarters.

####

 **Rumors traveled fast in a closed system like Echo Base.** It was no more than a standard hour after Luke Skywalker had been reported missing—and that Han Solo had gone after him—before every pilot, soldier, mechanic, tech, and droid knew about it. The speeders still weren't flying in the cold, but there were search parties out on tauntauns. It would only be a matter of time before Luke was located; certainly he and Han would be back in time for the nightly sabacc game. The Rogues would have a fine time tormenting their desert born and raised commander over this one! Wedged grinned in anticipation.

The searchers straggled in as day turned to night, in ones and twos. They all told the same story: there had been no sign of Skywalker, or of Solo. The good news was that they hadn't found either of the men injured—or worse. The bad news was that they hadn't found either of the men. The strong winds and blowing snow obliterated any tracks their tauntauns might have left, and the darkening skies made long distance visuals virtually impossible. The scanners gave false readings in the cold.

"You didn't find any trace of them at all?" Wedge asked, trailing after one of the searchers as she trudged toward the base mess.

"Nothing, sir." The young woman blew on her blue-tinged fingertips, trying to warm them. Realizing that this maneuver wasn't going to work in the chilly air of the corridor, she stuffed her gloves into her belt and tucked her hands into her armpits. She stopped suddenly, turning to look at him. Wedge almost ran into her. "Honestly, sir, I don't hold a whole lot of hope." Her thickly accented Basic reflected one of the outer rim territories. "Something must have happened to Commander Skywalker; he's surely frozen by now." Her pale eyes were sad. "Captain Solo ought to be coming in now, too," she continued. "But you know Solo, sir; there's no way he's gonna stop searching for his friend. By morning he'll be frozen, too." The young woman continued walking. "I'm sorry I can't say better."

"Thank you, soldier, for your honesty," Wedge assured her. "Go get warm." He watched as she hurried away down the corridor.

 _But you know Solo, sir…_

Wedge did know Han Solo, he counted the man among his few real friends, just as he counted Luke Skywalker. His mouth thinned to a hard line as he began to walk slowly toward the Rogues' quarters. Wedge didn't have so many friends that he could afford to lose any, and it felt to him like he'd lost too many already. But the thing he knew about Han Solo—and that the young soldier didn't—was that Solo had more skill, tenacity, and just plain luck, than any being had a right to have. If anyone could pull this rescue off it was the Corellian smuggler.

With more spring in his step, Wedge continued on toward the Rogue sabacc game. It was as good a place as any to wait for his friends to return.

####

 **The game was more crowded than usual, with bunks, boxes, and other assorted equipment pushed back against the walls to accommodate the additional parties.** Wedge noted a healthy number of less familiar faces among the usual crowd. Along with almost every Rogue, a number of mechanics and deck hands had joined the pilots, all of them obviously hoping to hear some news about the missing men. More than a few looked at him when he walked in.

"Sorry," he said to the room in general, as he took a seat at the makeshift sabacc table. "I don't know anything more than any of the rest of you."

"Shouldn't they be back by now?" Dak asked. He was the youngest member of Rogue Squadron and he particularly looked up to Luke Skywalker.

"There's still time," Wedge said with conviction. He reached for a bottle of ale, then pulled his hand back. He might need a clear head to help with the search, if by some miracle they got those speeders up and running, and Luke and Han weren't already back.

"I can't believe Solo went out there alone," one of the mechanics commented. "He's usually a smart guy. I can't figure what he was thinking." He took a long pull on his bottle of ale. "He didn't even take his Wookiee with him."

Zev's hands froze mid-shuffle, and Hobbie looked cautiously between the commander and the mechanic. Wedge had straightened in his seat and his face had taken on the angry lines that every Rogue knew meant trouble. It wasn't often that Wedge Antilles lost his temper, but when he did, it was memorable.

"Let me explain something, soldier," Antilles began, his voice as cold and hard as Hoth's ice. "Han Solo is a more loyal friend, and a better man, than most." Several of the other Rogues nodded in agreement. "He does not sit back when someone needs help." The mechanic shifted uncomfortably under Wedge's laser sharp stare. "And Chewbacca is nobody's Wookiee." Wedge drew a deep breath "I don't think we need your kind of attitude at our game," he announced.

The mechanic, and a few of his friends, scuttled out the door.

"Okay," Wedge said. "Somebody deal the kriffing cards."

####

 **The card game broke up early** , **but it was just as well, Wedge thought, it hadn't been a particularly enjoyable game anyway.** He thought that it might be because he hadn't touched any of the normal libations—and neither had anyone else. Or it could have been the cards; they certainly hadn't been cooperative, changing at will to no one's benefit. But the two missing players—three if you counted Chewbacca—had cast a gloomy pall over the evening's enjoyment. And while all of those things had played a part, it had been the sound of the alarm that ended the game.

It was something they heard every evening, most times Wedge ignored it. But this night, at exactly 2013—much later than usual—the blare of the siren announcing the closing of the shield doors for the night had cut through base like a scream. The card players looked at the chrono, and they looked at one another. Then, one by one they had folded, or just laid their cards down on the packing crate they were using for a table.

"Maybe no one came to tell us they were back," Dak began hopefully.

Wes Janson, usually a joker, shook his head mournfully. "We would have heard, you know that."

"They've given up," Hobbie stated.

" _Commander Skywalker; he's surely frozen by now… Solo… By morning he'll be frozen, too."_ The young soldier's words replayed in Wedge's head. But Wedge Antilles wasn't accepting it—not yet.

"Just until morning," he told the Rogues, and the other's who'd remained.

"Sir?" Dak looked uncertainly at Wedge.

"The searchers are in for the night," Wedge clarified, "but they haven't given up. More patrols will go out at first light."

One of the X-wing mechanics who'd been observing the game stood up, giving his companion a poke in the shoulder. "Come on, Dankon," he invited the other man. "Let's go give those nerfs working on the T-47's the benefit of our expertise so those things are ready to fly in the morning." The first mechanic nodded respectfully at Wedge as he and his friend left the room.

Wedge rose and stretched. "We're going out at first light tomorrow," he informed his pilots. "If they can't get those speeders to work, we'll have to use the fighters." He looked around the room, noting the nods and murmurs of agreement. "Get some rest!" he ordered.

####

 **The sound of his footsteps on the corridor floorboards sounded unnaturally loud to him as Wedge made his way to his own bunk.** But then, the narrow passageway was unusually empty of personnel. He knew that there were a fair number of mechanics working on the T-47's, scrambling to insure they'd be functional by the time the shield doors were opened at dawn. There had also been a handful of beings—hopefuls or gawkers, Wedge wasn't sure which—who'd been hovering near the hangar entrance, waiting for news. The princess and Chewbacca had been waiting there, too. He prayed they still weren't there.

Well, at least one of them wasn't. Apparently the princess was so lost in her own thoughts that she wasn't aware that Wedge was there. It seemed to him that those thoughts weren't good company. Her downcast face was a ghostly white, Wedge saw, and there were deep lines of strain around her eyes and mouth. Her dark eyes glittered with unshed tears. This had to be harder on her than it was on anyone else on the base.

Wedge politely, and loudly, cleared his throat.

Leia's head jerked up.

"Oh. Hi, Wedge. I didn't see you."

Wedge watched, fascinated, as her face transformed. The worry lines smoothed, though they didn't disappear completely, and the despairing look mutated into one of polite interest. She was every inch the princess, he thought, except for her eyes. They were still dark and haunted.

"I'm just heading back to my quarters," he informed her. "We want to get an early start in the morning."

"Thank you," Leia nodded, as she stepped past him.

"Princess!" She stopped and turned back. The look on her face made his heart ache. "Leia," Wedge said more gently. "We'll find them. They'll be fine." He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine." There, he'd said it. Let Leia wonder which 'he' he'd meant. But Wedge had a feeling she already knew.

She offered him the ghost of a smile. "Good night, Wedge." As Leia turned, Wedge could see all the fear and all the pain reappear on her face.

"Hey, cuz!' he called after her. "Trust me!"

The hint of a real smile lifted the corners of Leia's mouth.

"You know we're not really cousins." she pointed out. It was a mistake quite a few people had made.

"Well, your mother was an Antilles," Wedge answered her. "Somewhere way, way, back we have to be related."

"The odds are astronomical."

"I'm Corellian, never tell me the odds!" He grinned briefly. "Try and get some sleep, Leia," he recommended gently.

"You, too. I'll see you in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3

_I know I said these were three independent stories...and they are. However, if you do read the three of them together, there's a certain connectedness-which isn't even a word!_

 **Clear Light at Dawn**

Leia woke to sharp stabbing pain in her neck and back. Where was she? The space was black and cold, with only a single, faint glow relieving the stygian darkness; the surface on which her face rested was smooth and unyielding. Her breath caught—the Death Star. In any moment, Darth Vader would be back to resume the torture. The light must be the interrogation droid, waiting for its master's return. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and squinted in that direction. 0418 shone back at her from the small chronometer perched on top of an upended packing crate. With a groan, she raised her head and rubbed at the screaming muscles in her neck.

"Lights on half-full," she ordered. Her cramped sleeping quarters swam into focus in the brightening light.

The princess rubbed her hands roughly over her face, swiping away the worst of the nightmare. She'd fallen asleep over the weekly fuel consumption reports, of all things. The pain in her neck was merely the result of sleeping face down on her small table, instead of the Empire's questionable mercies. She continued rubbing at her strained muscles as she pondered what could possibly have possessed her to look at that uninteresting set of data at any time other than directly before a quartermasters' meeting.

And the old nightmare was replaced by a new one.

Her heart began to race the moment it came back to her. Han and Luke. How could she have forgotten that they were lost somewhere in the deathly cold of a night on Hoth? How could she have fallen asleep? Leia scrubbed her hands over her face again, willing the last traces of her somnolence away. She dashed into the 'fresher, intent on doing only what was absolutely necessary.

Moments later she was out again, drying her face and hands on a rough towel. Usually she was loathe to use the coarse fabric, but today she welcomed the scratchy surface—she needed all the help she could get this morning. As she tucked stray hairs back into her braid, she checked for messages. Of course there weren't any. It was only in her imagination that Han and Luke had magically appeared at the shield doors in the middle of the night, demanding entry. Grabbing her gloves, she palmed open her door and headed out into the frigid corridor.

####

 **The hangar was bitterly cold at this early hour** , even with the shield doors shut tight. Ice crystal rainbows haloed the lights high overhead as Leia pulled on her heavy gloves, and the outlines of the X-wings and Y-wings stood out sharply in the frigid air. Her teeth chattering against the numbing cold, she wondered how much worse it must be beyond the heavy doors. Behind her she could feel the dark presence of the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ filling the far end of the hangar, even as she could feel the absence of its captain. She shuddered involuntarily.

There were an inordinately large number of people filling the flight deck at this early hour; the exhalations of the dozens of beings creating a misty fog around them. A group of tired looking mechanics poked and prodded at the T-47's, but Leia could tell from the humming roar of engines that the speeders were finally functional. They must have worked all night. As she watched, Chewie pulled himself out from underneath one of them, his hairy arms matted with lubricant all the way up to his elbows. Instead of going to bed, as he'd insisted the princess do when they'd parted company last night, he'd obviously gone to work alongside the mechanics. He looked exhausted. A few meters away from them, the pilots of Rogue squadron huddled together, their orange and white flightsuits a sharp contrast to the silvery gray of the T-47's behind them. Several of them were drinking kaf out of thermal containers, one or two yawned. All of them were listening to instructions from General Rieekan. He broke away from the group when he saw the princess.

"Leia, I was hoping you could sleep a little longer," her father's old friend greeted her. "I know this must be hard for you," he said gently. "Skywalker and Solo are your closest friends, and Solo…" he left the thought dangling there. The general, who knew her as well as anyone on the base did, carefully ignored Leia's quick, sharp look in his direction.

Getting nothing further from Rieekan, the princess looked around the hangar. Her scan picked out two others she hadn't seen before. In a far corner, isolated from everyone else, were a two-onebee medical droid and a human medic. Leia shivered, fervently hoping their services wouldn't be needed. Gods! What was she thinking? Of course she hoped they were needed! If they weren't, that would only mean—

Leia didn't want to finish the thought. Up until this moment, she had been thinking of Han and Luke only as being lost. Now, she had to face the fact that they could be dead—frozen in the deadly cold. She shuddered. Han—.

A picture formed in her mind. Han Solo, lying half on his side in a snow bank, the hood of his jacket blown back by the icy winds. His hazel eyes, open and unseeing, were glazed with a thin layer of ice. She remembered their last conversation, there in the corridor outside the command center. They'd snarled at one another. What if those were the last words she ever spoke to him?

She bit back a strangled cry, willing herself to remain composed. What demon in the lowest of the hells had her picturing that? And why was Han the focus of her fears? Of course she was worried for Luke as well. She shut her eyes, forcing her errant mind back on track.

She opened them again at a gentle touch on her arm. General Rieekan squeezed consolingly.

She looked around again at the milling groups of people.

"How much longer do we wait?" she asked Rieekan coolly.

"As soon as it hits -30 they'll open the doors and Rogue group will recommence the search," he answered her, nodding once to acknowledge Leia's change in demeanor. "Thanks to the people who worked through the night, the speeders are set to go." The general smiled a little. "It says quite a bit about how well liked Solo and Skywalker are," he observed. "There were a dozen workers here all night, getting those T-47's prepped. And Chewbacca, of course," he added as the Wookiee came to stand protectively behind the princess.

Leia was surprised to discover just how much better she felt with Chewie's warm presence behind her.

"General!" Wedge's voice rang through the hangar. "We're at -30." He waved his gloved hand at the temperature sensor on the outside wall.

"Open the doors," General Rieekan ordered.

Before the words had left Rieekan's lips, the doors were opening and the Rogues were maneuvering the speeders out into the cold, clear dawn.

####

 **Leia could feel her heart beating unevenly in her chest as she squinted into the white glare outside the shield doors.** She found she was standing in almost exactly the same place she had been the night before—close enough to the doors that she could see if something or someone returned, but far enough away that she didn't feel the worst of the cold. This morning, however, Chewie stood with her, instead of pacing in front of the doors. She wondered about the change. She knew he was just as anxious as she was—she could feel the tension vibrating off him—but he seemed unwilling to leave her alone. Gods! Had he given up on Han, too—on Han and Luke, she quickly corrected herself—as so many of the others had? She didn't think she could bear it.

Time crawled.

Then Zev's voice boomed out as it was broadcast through the hangar, announcing that he'd found the missing men. A tired, ragged cheer echoed off the high ceiling. A more enthusiastic cheer ensued when he informed the waiting group that both men were alive. The euphoria dimmed when Zev requested medical personnel meet him as he landed.

The personnel filling the hangar drifted like snow toward Zev's speeder as it came to rest on the tarmac. No one spoke as they moved Luke's limp, battered body from the back of the T-47 onto a hoverstretcher. Leia held her breath until one by one, the monitors on the stretcher lighted, indicating its occupant was alive. The relieved sigh of the watchers was audible. Chewie moaned sympathetically

The princess watched with wide, worried eyes as they moved Luke toward the base medical facilities. Her first words, however, had nothing to do with the young commander.

"Where's Han?" she asked. Her eyes darted from Zev to the glistening white landscape beyond the shield doors. She didn't see any other speeders coming back. "Is he okay? Is he badly hurt?"

The pilot's eyes widened in momentary surprise, then narrowed curiously, before he answered the princess.

"Captain Solo looked in pretty good shape, all things considered, Ma'am," he answered. "I'm no medic," Zev continued, his voice even, "but I'm betting he's got some frostbite. But he was more concerned about Commander Skywalker get medical attention than anything else. He was waiting for Commander Antilles to come and pick him up." Zev smiled. "He did ask me if I had any hot Corellian brandy stowed anywhere."

Chewie howled a booming laugh. Leia's lips curled upward for a fraction of a second.

"He would," was her only response, but relief washed over her in a warming wave.

The sound of another approaching snow speeder drew their attention. It landed with a flourish a short distance away from the group. Leia watched as the canopy opened and Wedge Antilles hopped out. He reached in back to give his passenger a hand, and was haughtily rebuffed. Carefully, Han Solo climbed out of the T-47 and stood shakily next to it.

With an ear-shattering yowl, Chewbacca ran toward his friend, enveloping Han in a rib-cracking hug. The Corellian had little success fending him off. Leia allowed herself a quick, amused smile when she saw Han arguing with the medic who had trotted up to check on him. Chewie voiced his opinion on the stupidity of his friend and reached for his arm, intent on dragging him forcibly to the medical ward.

Leia didn't realize that she was staring until Han's eyes made contact with hers across the tarmac. He raised one eyebrow in a curious smirk. She felt the heat of a blush rush up her cheeks and a tiny flutter in her stomach. Angrily, the princess turned on her heel to head toward the medical facilities. When she knew no one could see her, she allowed herself another relieved grin.

####

 **Leia continued talking to the two-onebee droid about Luke's condition, even while she listened with half an ear to the commotion coming from the other treatment room**. Han Solo was not happy with his own two-onebee's suggestion that a short immersion in bacta would remedy the captain's case of frostbite and hypothermia. In response, the captain had suggested reformatting the droid as a garbage compactor.

Leia turned her attention back to Luke Skywalker. He floated, unconscious, in the healing bacta bath. He had very nearly died from hypothermia, the medical droid had informed her. The young commander had been very lucky that his body heat had stayed just above fatal levels. The princess knew luck had nothing to do with it; Han Solo had kept him alive.

The man would never cease to amaze her.

The door to the treatment room slid open and Han walked in. He didn't appear to be in any distress, Leia observed, though his fingers still looked a little pale and bluish at the tips.

"How's the kid?" he asked, moving toward the tank.

"He should make a full recovery, but it was close." A little hitch in the princess's voice expressed her concern for their friend.

"Yeah," was Han's one word reply. After an awkward silence, he turned to leave.

"Han!"

He turned back, looking curiously at her.

"Thank you," the princess said.

The Corellian waved her thanks away with a wave of his hand and a mocking half-smile. "It was nothing, your Worship."

"It wasn't nothing. He could have died." Han's face reflected no emotion; he turned back to the door.

"You could have died," Leia hurried on.

"Would you have cared?" he asked her. Han's tone was light, mocking, but there was a tentativeness in it that Leia didn't miss.

"Of course I would!" she answered vehemently. What did he think of her?

Han waited, as if he were expecting something more. Leia didn't know what that something could be.

He spun on his heel. "Never mind, your Worship!"

"Han! Wait!"

This time he stopped but didn't turn. Leia reached over to a small shelf, then walked around to face Han.

"Here," she said. She held out a large, thermal mug, filled to the brim with steaming kaf.

Han looked at her oddly, as if Leia's small act meant something larger.

"I thought you might want this," Leia hurried on. She extended the mug.

Han reached for it, their hands touching as he took it from her.

"Thanks, Leia." This time his smile was warm and genuine. With a grateful sigh, he took a sip, shutting his eyes as he savored the warmth.

Leia felt it again, the tiniest flutter in her belly, as she watched the smiling Corellian. Something had shifted in her thinking—or maybe it was in his attitude—she wasn't sure. Something as warm as the kaf she'd given him.

Han opened his eyes and peered at her over the mug. "Yes, your Worship?"

"Nothing, Captain." She _knew_ it couldn't last. The feeling gone, Leia turned back to the bacta tank and its occupant. She never saw the Corellian's fond, lopsided smile.


End file.
